


I Won't Let Him Have You

by cytheriafalas



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytheriafalas/pseuds/cytheriafalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhat AU. Joe comes to tell Methos that Duncan is dead, but Methos already knows, and he knows who killed him. Repost from my other account on lj.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Let Him Have You

Methos stuffed his hands in his pockets against the chill of Romania’s winter. He much preferred to be warm. Really, really preferred to be warm. Hunching his shoulders, he turned down the side street toward the derelict cathedral looming above the city. No one had worshipped here in generations, but no one dared tear it down. It served his purpose, in any case. Holy ground was holy ground.

And holy ground seemed, as a matter of principle, to be cold. Methos grumbled to himself as slipped through a side door. He really would rather have been warm. Hands still stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched, head down, Methos positioned himself against one wall of the cathedral. He felt the reassuring weight of his sword hilt pressed against his ribs, and a loaded gun beneath his shirt. He couldn’t sense any other Immortals, but he didn’t even trust mortals these days.

He began to hear a rhythmic thumping, gradually growing louder. It paused and the door on the far end of the church swung open and then closed again. Joe Dawson’s shape, hunched with years and years, appeared far down the center aisle. “Adam?”

“I go by Ben now,” Methos said, crossing his arms deliberately before him, tilting his head back, eyes gazing at the faded paintings on the ceiling. “Why did you want to see me?”

The former Watcher limped into sight, stopping a few feet away. He was old now, retired the last half-dozen years. Old and mortal and painfully near death.

“Headquarters told me Duncan’s been killed,” Joe said, choking on the words.

“I know.”

“You know,” Joe said. He was old, yes, but not senile.

Methos turned away, moving toward the door. “I killed him.”

Joe swore, grabbing Methos by the arm and spinning him around. “ _You_ killed him? What the… Methos, _why_?”

Methos wrenched his arm away, almost pulling Joe off his feet. His reflex was to reach out and steady him. His hand twitched in that direction, but he pressed it against his side instead. “There can be only One, Dawson. I intend for it to be me.”

Methos strode out the door, slamming it behind him. Above the reverberations, he heard Joe’s hoarse cry. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The Immortal whose Presence had been buzzing just beneath his skin the entire trip from his flat pushed off from the wall.

“Well? Why did he want to see you?”

Methos gave him a dark look. “He came to tell me MacLeod was dead.”

“Is that so?” Kronos chuckled, his arm winding around Methos’ waist. “Did you tell him who did it?”

“Yes.”

Kronos spun Methos into his arms. “What did he say?”

Methos pushed away, pulling the Immortal’s hands free from his hips. “He asked me why. Do you want a play-by-play, Kronos?”

“I want _you_ ,” Kronos murmured, nipping at his ear.

Methos shoved at him hard enough to drive him back a few paces. “Get your hands off me. This is Bucharest, not Amsterdam.”

Kronos pushed him back into a wall, trapping him there with his body. Methos tried to shove him off again, but Kronos was much larger and stronger than he was. The most he succeeded in doing was give himself a little breathing space before Kronos crushed their mouths together.

He let Kronos kiss him, let Kronos’ hands run along his body through the thick sweater and jacket he wore. Kronos’ lips trailed up to his ear, “What did you tell him then?”

“I lied,” Methos snapped, shoving Kronos away one last time. He shoved his hands in his pockets again and turned toward the flat they shared. The Immortal lumbered after him.

They’d barely gotten their door shut and locked when Kronos’ hands began divesting Methos of his clothing. Methos closed his eyes, feeling the revulsion rising in his throat. He kept still, allowing Kronos to tug his jacket off, then his shirt. He kicked off his own shoes to save himself the humiliation of Kronos doing it for him.

Kronos walked them back toward their bedroom, leaving behind a trail of their clothing. “You will love me again, Brother.”

Methos didn’t say anything. Given enough time, Kronos would get his way. He would convince himself that he loved Kronos, that he enjoyed the touches that turned his stomach. Kronos eased him back onto the bed they shared, hands sliding up his skin.

“You didn’t tell him that you called MacLeod to you? Didn’t tell him that when he showed up here, I was waiting?” With each question, Kronos kissed his way up Methos’ body. “Did you tell him that MacLeod begged for his head?”

Kronos’ lips finally reached Methos’ mouth. Kronos kissed him, forcing Methos’ mouth open. He turned his head away, leaving Kronos kissing his jaw. He fisted his hands, digging nails kept long for just this purpose into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

He hated this part, the part where Kronos tried to draw some reaction out of him, where his hands and lips traced all parts of his body. He only forced himself to wait, to accept Kronos taking what didn’t belong to him. And Kronos did take him. Methos dug his nails into his palms again, gouging the flesh, but that pain was nothing compared to what Kronos would bring.

_“I’m sorry, Mac.”_

_Duncan backed away from Methos’ sword, eyes wary. “Methos, what’s this?”_

Kronos’ hands ran up Methos’ body, across his chest and over his shoulders. Methos tried to enjoy the touch, imagine it was someone else’s hands tracing his muscles. The illusion shattered when he felt Kronos pressed against him. “It hurts less if you relax, Brother.” Kronos kissed along Methos’ face and jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

_“I truly don’t want to do this.”_

_He couldn’t miss the panic in Duncan’s eyes, the shock and horror as he began to realize that Methos was serious. Even Duncan’s voice was laced with surprise, his accent thick as words tumbled the words tumbled from his mouth._

_“Methos, we’re friends. What happened? I can help you!”_

_Methos approached, step by painful step. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have come here.”_

_“You wrote me. What do you mean I shouldn’t have come?” Duncan backtracked, hands empty, held out to his sides._

Methos bit his lip, the iron taste of blood blooming in his mouth. Kronos’ hands were hard against his arms, grip tight enough to bruise. Methos tilted his head back, eyes roving the ceiling and wall above his head.

Kronos took it as encouragement, burying his nose in Methos’ throat. “You smell like war. Leather and horses and blood and Death.”

_“Kronos wrote you. He wants you dead.”_

_“For anything other than the obvious reasons?” Duncan asked, eyes darting toward his sword. Methos kept himself between Duncan and the blade._

_“He thinks you have something he can’t have. You know Kronos. That kills him.”_

_“What? What could I possibly have?”_

_Methos stepped in close, his lips close by Duncan’s ear. Duncan tensed, flinching away._

Kronos’ head tipped back as he reached his climax, thrusting more painfully and more erratically. Methos squeezed his eyes shut. He pressed his hand against his mouth, biting down. More blood spilled into his mouth.

_“Me. He wants me to love him.”_

_Duncan’s eyes were still wide and uncomprehending. He paused, licking his lips. “What does that have to do with me?”_

_Methos kissed Duncan’s lips, just slightly damp. “If I let you go, he’ll have your head, one way or another. I won’t let him take you. I won’t let him have you.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“I’m sorry.” Methos drew back his sword._

_“One minute, please.”_

_Methos didn’t strike, but he didn’t lower his sword either. Kronos was nearby, probably watching. Duncan leaned in and kissed him. Then he knelt, head bowed. “I love you, Methos.”_

_Methos struck, feeling Duncan’s Quickening envelop him._

Kronos collapsed next to him, breathing hard. He kissed Methos’ temple. “I love you, Brother.”

Methos rolled over.


End file.
